Tin God

by Stacy Green

  Nick focused on his task. Kara should be waiting for him. She’d promised him fifteen minutes with the records. It would have to be enough.

  Kara stood outside the courthouse’s service entrance. Nick had only met her a few times, but he remembered the white-blond hair and tanned skin. She looked more like a beach girl than a professional.

  “You’re late.” Nerves colored her tone.

  “Sorry.”

  “You know this could cost me my job.”

  “It won’t.”

  “You can’t promise that. You get busted—”

  “I’ll say I snuck in. But I won’t get caught. Besides, attorneys go into the records all the time. Everyone knows that.”

  “You’re not an attorney.”

  “But I could be.”

  She didn’t smile. “Why won’t you tell me how an adoption record could be tied to Lana’s murder?”

  “Plausible deniability. You don’t need to know.” He glanced around. It was late afternoon, and the courthouse should be relatively empty. “We going to do this?”

  Kara swiveled on her three-inch heels, punched a code into the keypad, and then gestured for Nick to follow her. Inside the back halls of the courthouse, the temperature was cool, but the heavy quiet made Nick uneasy. Sneaks were easier to spot when they were the only ones around.

  Kara led him to a locked room. She turned the key and pushed open the door. “Fifteen minutes.” The door shut behind him, and Nick was alone in a long, narrow room filled with gray filing cabinets. Lighting was dim and the air conditioning lacking. The lone computer sat tucked away in a corner. It was probably a dinosaur, but it was his best chance.

  * * *

  Jaymee played with the radio. Every station in Jackson seemed intent on shoving the same country music down its residents’ throats. She jabbed the off button and glared out the window. The parking lot remained empty, but several suits had come and gone from the courthouse.

  The women fascinated her. All of them were dressed neatly with sensible skirts and sleeveless shirts. A few wore dresses, but nothing frilly. Dark colors to match their stern expressions. Most of the men loped to the little deli, briefcases in hand. Some played on their fancy phones. But the women walked with purpose, eyes focused straight ahead, mouth in grim, determined lines. Every one of them looked stressed, harried, and miserable. So much for gender equality.

  She dropped her head back against the seat. How long had Nick been gone? She hadn’t thought to look at the clock when he’d left. She’d been too busy watching him walk away and wondering why she could barely breathe.

  Her track record with men was pathetic. After Wilcher was a string of losers like Troy, all out for one thing. Most left when they realized that wasn’t happening without serious time and effort. Jaymee really didn’t care. Men had barely appealed to her since Holden Wilcher screwed up her head.

  Never again. So when the men came and went, Jaymee really didn’t care. Cage was the constant in her life, her emotional boyfriend, and that was all she needed.

  Except Cage was in love with her, and she was too much of a coward to let him go. Lord knew she’d tried, and she’d never let him believe she felt the same. But still she reached out, kept him close. It wasn’t fair to him.

  And now there was Nick. She wasn’t sure if he was good or bad for her. Not that it mattered. He was off limits. That didn’t stop her skin from burning when he touched her.

  All physical and easy to control.

  Yet when Nick looked at her with such truth in his eyes, she felt stripped to her core. Naked and helpless. Worst part was, she didn’t hate the feeling. She just didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Damn it.” She covered her face with her hands. “You can’t do this. Focus. Lana. This is her husband, for Christ’s sake.” She forced Nick out of her mind and tried to conjure up a mental picture of her best friend. It didn’t work.

  Jaymee jumped at the rap on the window. “Shit.”

  Nick peered down at her. Even with his Ray-Bans hiding his eyes, Jaymee could tell by the set of his jaw the news wasn’t good. She unlocked the doors and hopped back to the passenger side.

  “Thanks.” He fell into the driver’s seat.

  “You didn’t find anything, did you?”

  “Not a damned thing.” Nick turned up the air conditioning. “Nothing under your name or Sarah’s. Computer was slow, but nothing came up with the social worker, either. There were several adoptions affiliated with Hannah’s House, but I ran out of time.”

  “Wouldn’t the file have shown up under my name if it was there?”

  “If it was filed legally, yes. But if they used a fake mother’s name, didn’t name the mother, or said the mother abandoned the child, it wouldn’t. That’s why I needed to look through all of the adoptions through Hannah’s House for that year.”

  “What now?”

  Instead of answering, Nick put the car in gear and swung out into the street, cutting off an SUV without so much as an apologetic wave. The silence stretched, and Jaymee had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he said next. The courthouse wasn’t far from his apartment, and they soon pulled back into his parking space.

  Nick put the car in park. “We’ve got to go to Hannah’s House.”

  Her chest suddenly ached, and her mouth tasted like a dirty sock. “Why?”

  “To see if they remember Debra Davies.”

  “And me. Right?”

  “It sucks. But if anyone there knows anything, you showing up might throw them off their game.” Nick’s hand darted towards her and then dropped to the console with a smack. “It’s our best shot.”

  Jaymee flexed her cold, numb fingers. “Fine. But it’s too late in the day.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “You brought an overnight bag, right?”

  * * *

  Jaymee didn’t drink. Last time, she’d had too much wine in a box and started telling Crystal things she didn’t need to know. But alcohol was a necessity tonight. She accepted the glass of red wine Nick offered and tried not to down it with one gulp.

  “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” She sat down on the couch while Nick took the recliner.

  “We’ll talk to the administrator at Hannah’s,” Nick said. “You play it straight. Say you were here a few years ago and they helped you out. Now you’ve got a friend in trouble, and you want to put her in touch with Debra Davies.”

  “This is turning into a soap opera.”

  “It’s a puzzle,” he said. “Like any good story. We just have to figure out how to put it together.”

  “I think we need all the pieces first.”

  “Very true.” He scratched the stubble on his chin with the back of his fingers. “I think Lana had real proof.”

  “Why?”

  “Her killing had to have been planned. She was waiting for me at the restaurant. I didn’t show up. She leaves, says goodbye to the bartender. Never makes it to her car.”

  “Stranger abduction.”

  “Except that it wasn’t. No one in the area remembers a struggle of any kind. Which means she went willingly–because she knew the person. Trusted him.”

  “Okay. So how did he know she was there?”

  Nick stared at his still full glass. “Her cell phone had two unknown calls, both traced to a throwaway phone. One in the late afternoon and one about twenty minutes before she left.”

  “So her killer called her, asked her to meet him?”

  “I think so.”

  Jaymee rubbed her temples. “I still don’t understand how that equates to her having proof.”

  “She sees the evil three at lunch. I think she confronted one or more of them at some point. And Lana wouldn’t have done that until she knew she had the leverage. She was too smart.”

  “Maybe her anger got the best of her.”

  “I doubt it. She was used to having to hold her tongue and play the ass-kissing game. She was a social worker. She saw shit every day th
at made her angry. I think she had the proof and decided to act on it. After she made the threat, someone she trusted contacted her.”

  “You’re thinking all three of them–my father, Holden, and Royce–are involved?”

  “Possibly. Probably. I don’t know. But I know my wife. And she wouldn’t have played her cards until she had them all in her hands.”

  “But how do we find out what she knew? What about her computer? Did she have one?”

  “Police scoured it. Nothing came up. It’s still in evidence.”

  “And we’ve gone through all of her things?”

  Nick winced. “Her paperwork, yes. There are a few personal things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Notes I’d written her. Letters. Cards. That sort of thing.”

  “I know you don’t want to, but we should look through them. Maybe something got stuck in with them, something that was overlooked before.”

  He was grinding his teeth again. “You’re right. But I don’t want to.”

  “I can look. Just tell me where they are.”

  Nick closed his eyes, his skin suddenly gray. Fine wrinkles appeared around his eyes and mouth, his face pinched in such acute pain, she felt the misery creep into her own heart.

  “No,” he said. “I need to be the one to go through them.” He got to his feet, moving as though a heavy weight pushed against him.

  “I’ll wait here,” Jaymee said.

  Nick looked down at her. His expression was strained and hard to read. “I didn’t say I wanted to do it alone.”

  Her heart kick-started. She stood on wobbly legs. Her head felt sloshy from the wine. “Lead the way.”

  Like the living area, Nick’s bedroom was nearly bare, with only a queen-sized bed, nightstand, and a small bureau. Navy comforter. Heavy blinds on the large window, no curtains. Nick disappeared into the closet and returned with a black and brown wicker box, the kind of cutesy storage piece found at Pier One and other fancy stores.

  He sat down on the bed with the box in his lap. Gripping the open handles, he stared at the lid. For the first time, Jaymee saw real vulnerability on his face. Not just pain, but raw wounds. She put a hand over his. She didn’t know what to say.

  “I was a shitty husband.”

  “No.”

  “I was. You know it, Cage knows it. She knew it.”

  “You loved her.”

  “I did. But I was so hell-bent on my career, on proving myself, I pushed her aside. She was never a priority.”

  “It happens. We never appreciate what we have until it’s gone.”

  “That last day, I accused her of having an affair.” He faced Jaymee with red-tinged eyes. “I was so angry, and she’d been acting strangely. Working later, being secretive. I wasn’t there for her. Maybe she’d found someone who would be, you know?”

  “It was me. She was working on finding Sarah. I made her keep the secret.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Shame. Fear. Selfishness.”

  Nick enclosed the hand resting on his between his own, laying them on the box. “You were young. You’d been taken advantage of in a horrible way. Why would you trust me?”

  She couldn’t raise her head, couldn’t meet his eyes. If she did, he’d see more than the pain she dealt with every day. He’d also see the yearning need his touch ignited. How could she allow herself to feel that way? Lana had probably died for her, and here Jaymee was, fighting the urge to crawl into Nick’s arms.

  “You can’t blame yourself.” His voice was closer now, near her ear. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Against her better judgment, she looked up. Their faces were mere inches apart. His hand tightened around hers.

  She found her voice. “Neither can you.”

  “Aren’t we a pair?” His smile didn’t help her plight. She needed to pull away, put some distance between them. Run to the other side of the room and draw an imaginary line. My space, your space. Don’t cross it unless you want a swift kick in the pants. She scooted closer.

  “I guess we are.”

  He licked his lips once, twice. His eyes were heavy-lidded, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. His palms were clammy.

  Jaymee closed the distance, pressing her lips to his in one fluid movement. Nick groaned and pulled her close, his strong fingers digging gently into her upper arms. She snaked her hands over his chest. His muscles shuddered at the touch.

  All of this was wrong, but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop her euphoria at his touch or her heart from stuttering and racing. Every muddled thought in her brain became crystal clear, and for a few brief seconds, she felt content.

  The box hit the floor with a thud. The cloud of satisfaction evaporated, and Jaymee tore herself away. Nick breathed in short, hard bursts, his reaching hands still suspended in mid-air. The ruddy flush on his cheeks extended to his collarbone.

  “I’m sorry.” She wanted to crawl under the bed and never come out. “I shouldn’t have.”

  He blinked as though coming out of spell. “S’ok. I should’ve stopped you.”

  God, she’d made a mess of things. Jaymee wasn’t used to letting her libido go crazy. Ever since Holden tore her apart, she’d worked hard for self-control. Every relationship she had was on her terms. But this–this thing with Nick? It was something new and terrifying and quickly spiraling out of her control.

  She looked at the box’s scattered contents. Her stomach soured. This was Lana’s husband, for God’s sake.

  “Let’s just forget about this,” Jaymee said. “Call it a moment of insanity. Please.” A foolish demand, but making it was the only way she knew to salvage the situation. They’d come to Jackson to dig up clues to Lana’s murder, not betray her.

  He closed his eyes. The harsh set of his jaw softened. “Yeah, all right.”

  Jaymee leapt off the bed and started gathering up the spilled contents. There were letters written on college-ruled paper and a cluster of cards. Sticky notes, a journal. She stood and dumped them on the bed beside Nick.

  His hand hovered over the pile. Finally, he traced the cover of the card nearest him. “This was the card I got her for her last birthday. I actually gave it to her on time.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  He shook himself and began slogging through the pile. “Cards. Letters I wrote to her in college. Letters from Cage.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “You. Just a postcard.”

  He tossed it at Jaymee. She ignored the edge in his tone. She remembered the card. She’d sent it a couple months before Lana was killed to let her know she was fine. And to keep working at “it.”

  “Thought you told her to back off,” he accused.

  “I did, at your wedding. But it wasn’t that simple. I was hurting, and Lana didn’t want to let things go. She wanted justice.”

  “And you wanted your revenge on Wilcher.”

  “I wanted my daughter back.”

  “And you used my wife to get her.”

  “I never used her.” She worked to keep her voice controlled as she battled guilt to defend herself. “She wanted to help.”

  “Of course she did. That’s who she was.” His loud voice echoed off the hardwood floors as he mirrored her stance. “She never met a lost cause she couldn’t take on. You knew that. Why else did you call her after you made a scene in church? You knew you couldn’t go back home.”

  “I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. And I wouldn’t have called Lana if it weren’t for Cage. He thought I should get out of town and get my problems sorted out.”

  “I bet he did. Probably figured you’d come back ready to be with him.”

  “Don’t.” Jaymee held up her hand, marking an invisible battle line. “You can blast me over Lana all you want, but don’t bring my relationship with him into this.”

  “Relationship? Those require give and take, Jaymee. What have you given to Cage? False hope? That guy is in love with you, and you don’t even care. You’re happy to string him along t
hough.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why should I?”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Her knuckles dug into the tender flesh of her thighs.

  “Nope, but it feels good.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “And you’re in denial.” His body was taut, shoulders rolled back, hands flexing and feet poised as though ready to spring. Jaymee knew the expression, knew the drive behind his words. She’d become a scapegoat for his pain–an easy outlet for grief and guilt.

  They faced off, Jaymee standing at the end of the bed and Nick near the front, the precious tokens of Lana’s life between them.

  She backed off first. Running her mouth was only going to fuel the argument. And it was difficult to stand her ground when part of her knew what he was saying to be true.

  “I’ll sleep on the couch. You take your bed. We both need some rest.” She kept the tears at bay until she turned around. By the time she’d crossed the short distance to the door, they’d reached her cheeks.

  “Jaymee.”

  “Nick, let’s just sleep. We can sort this out tomorrow.”

  “Listen–”

  “Not tonight.”

  “There’s something here. In Lana’s stuff.”

  She swallowed back the hurt and quickly wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “What?”

  “Her journal. Most of it’s just more poems and ideas for short stories. She loved to write.”

  “I know.”

  “But look at this. It’s in the back, like she was either trying to hide it or wrote it down in a hurry.” He crossed the room.

  Jaymee took the leather bound journal. Her bottomed-out emotions slammed back into her throat. Lana had written a timeline of events starting with Jaymee’s affair with Holden.

  “Sarah was born in 2005, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look at the timeline.”

  Before Sarah’s birth, Lana had drawn a series of question marks with the words, “how many others And before that, a name with notes. Lana had circled it so many times the blue ink pen indented the paper. Jaymee couldn’t breathe.

  “Elaine Andrews.” She couldn’t say the rest.